A World of Warriors
by RivalsAreAllies
Summary: Battlefields and bloodlines are two things that Katniss promised would never mix. She would make sure that her kids were not killed, not put in the arena. She failed. The Games are gone, but the violence is still here. This is a world of warriors.
1. Part I, Chapter I: There Will Be Blood

**Disclaimer: I do not own "_The Hunger Games_," or ANYTHING associated with said franchise, movie(s), literature, games, merchandise, or other media. All of the credit for the wonderfully dark world of "_Earth Enthralled_," and "_Panem_," belong SOLELY to Suzanne Collins.**

**Author Announcement(s): While the above statement is true, however, inspiration for starting my own series of novels, falls to Mrs. Suzanne Collins (Even Though Her Ideas Are FAR From Original), Mrs. J.K. Rowling, Mr. D.J. MacHale, Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien, Mr. C.S. Lewis, Mr. Philip Pullman, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the darkly noble Mr. George Orwell (surprised he's in that list there, right?). One day, IF (BIIIIG IF, Since It's a VERY SLIM Chance) I should happen to ever manage to get my book(s) series published, and one of you awesome readers are sitting there in "_Barnes & Noble_," trying to read the novel in one sitting in the store, so you won't have to pay for it (hey, no shame in it—I do it sometimes…), you might just look up at the author and say: "_HEY! I KNEW that guy! I read his FanFiction! …I deserve some of his profits!_"**

**Important Information: This is NOT an AU ("_Alternate Universe_"). This story takes place years, AFTER the "Epilogue," in "_Mockingjay_." This story is a Fan-Fiction "continuation" of the series. EVERYTHING that happened in the series, has ALREADY happened here.**

**Author's Amendment: …ANYWAYS… …I hope that any and all of you read and enjoy this work of FanFiction, and that I get some REVIEWS! I would greatly appreciate your opinion and/or review of this story (or any other story of mine you happen to find yourself interested in), as I take every last review and comment into account, in order to make it a more enjoyable experience for everyone reading it. ENJOY!**

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><p><strong>A World of Warriors<strong>

**A FanFic By: D. Raj David**

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><p><strong>Part One: Before the Bloodbath<strong>

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><p><strong>I. There Will Be Blood<strong>

The girl ran as fast as she could—which was well beyond the limit of the average human being, or for that matter, well beyond the limits of the average well-trained assassin or warrior. She sprinted as quickly as she could, and her body began to give way. Her mind told her body to continue, to persevere. Her body screamed at her mind to drop dead. Her mind won.

Her body was logical, and it knew when it had reached its limits. But her mind was lethal, and it knew that she could break her boundaries, go beyond her limits, if she desired to do so. So she did just that. She felt a searing pain sting her sides and give her stitches, and she knew that she had just tapped into her reserves, that she was running on empty. But she didn't care.

She didn't dare slow down, because she knew one thing above all else, one thing that the pain told her that nothing else could ever articulate so clearly. The pain told her she was still alive, and she was far too determined to lose that life now.

She would kill before she would die. Her mother had taught her that. Her father was far less aggressive, but he didn't question his wife's teachings or tactics. He wanted, more than anything, for his daughter, for his children, to _survive_. If that meant that they had to kill, then so be it.

She continued to run, blindingly white hot pain now permeating her entire body, but she only continued to sprint, in a constant forward motion. Even though her body was in agony, she still heard it. She heard the slice before she could even assess which of her senses were actually working correctly.

The arrow, covered in its sheath of shadows, concealed by the black paint on the arrow's steel, sliced by her head as she dodged it. She rolled forwards and to the left of the arrow's path-of-travel, using her forearms as both braces and brakes as she stopped herself in her rudimentary roll, and assumed her firm footing once again.

As she stopped and stood, she quickly turned her entire, extraneously exhausted, body to face her attacker, drawing a sharp steel blade that had been concealed on her back as she did so. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail, a classic style for females in combat, and the slight breeze that was created by the action of drawing her sword blew wisps of her dark hair over her face, only to fall back in the organized chaos that was her ponytail.

Her dark, deep blue eyes focused on the woods where the arrow shot by her head moments before. Her brief stop in motion allowed her bruised and beaten body to catch only a mouthful of well-needed air, before another arrow flew right at her face.

The arrow never made it to her face. She swung her sharpened steel sword at the incoming arrow, and her deft motion ended the projectile's path-of-travel, as it split the arrow quickly and quietly in half.

The next moment was a blur as a storm of black shaded steel arrows came flying at the girl. She smirked. She knew her attacker, and she knew that he only resorted to this tactic—"raining arrows," as he called it—when he was desperate. Desperate and mad. He was angry. His arrow had missed his target. Both of his arrows had missed his target. And he never missed. Except when he aimed at her.

She burst out in her usual blur of action, as she evaded the incoming and apparent bringers of death. The arrows descended on her—on their target, on their prey—but none of them ever hit the girl. She sliced the ones that were in her general vicinity, and those she couldn't swing her steel at, she expertly evaded—using the techniques her friends and her family had taught her.

Her attacker had seen enough of this show. He was not going to miss any longer. He emerged from the woods, his grey eyes now burning with fury and ferocity at her tenacity and at her tactics—at her humiliation of him. He lunged at her, detaching his steel bow into two separate, sharpened blades as he did so.

The girl countered, and the three blades met in the middle of their warpaths. The resounding clang of metal on metal was unmistakable. Then, the swift slices of steel began to escalate, accelerate, and increase in fury. The boy tried his hardest to get a shot in at the girl, but she allowed none of his blows to reach her body. His skill and speed were astounding—very astounding—but she was simply better than him.

Finally, the fact that the girl was far more exhausted than the boy caught up with her. She slipped, and the boy got an opening—one she couldn't defend against without proving that he had, even if only for a second, gotten the upper hand. She drew the small parrying blade that was located on her belt, and she caught the boy's bladed bow with her second smaller piece of steel. The swift motion of the slice caught the boy off guard, if only for a moment.

He quickly regained his smug smirk, and his stature resounded with an austere sense of victory, even though he knew that the girl could have easily killed him at any moment she saw fit. He knew, knew that he had forced her hand, knew that he had forced her last line of defense—her secondary steel blade. He smirked, and she scowled. The two stood there, unmoving and unnerved, but both extremely exhausted. The boy opened his mouth to speak, obviously intending to say some stupid, snarky remark, when the girl proved that he hadn't yet won the battle.

She swung her left foot swiftly underneath the boy's right leg, and she pulled her extended leg towards her body, erasing any semblance of foothold or firmness that the boy thought he had on the ground. His feet almost immediately went perpendicular to the ground, as he fell flat on his face. He turned around, only to find his sister with two blades crisscrossing over his throat. Instead of screaming or emitting even a single sound of fear, he sighed in exasperated defeat. She had beaten him—again.

"Oh man! C'mon, Prim, that wasn't fair! I _beat _you! The fight was over! It was _at least _a _draw_!" the boy with the blonde hair and grey eyes screamed his indignation up at his attacker, up at his captor, up at his sister.

Prim only smirked—just as her brother had done only moments before when he was sure he had won. "There are no '_draws_.' There are _only _victories, and the fight's not over till you've killed the enemy, or until you've—" she started, but her brother beneath her finished her statement for her.

"—Died trying. Yeah, yeah, I know! Fine. Whatever, just get off if me! You're kneeling on, what should be, my '_avoidable areas_!'" he screamed in agony, his hoarse voice proving that he wasn't lying. Prim smirked.

"I know. That was for actually trying to maim me with an arrow." was all she responded with. She gently eased herself off her brother, and sheathed her blades in their cases. She extended her hand out to her brother, helping him up off the ground. He got up with a gruff sound of injury, and for a second, it almost seemed as if his wound was so severe that the grim and gruesome nature of it would have stripped a well-trained solider of his ability to properly articulate words. But it was only a moment.

Prim just rolled her eyes. Her brother could handle pain well—_very well_. They _both _could. But he was a weakling when it came to pain that lasted for more than a few minutes. He handled it well regardless though—well, regardless, _except _for the pain he currently felt. He was milking this for all it was worth.

"When I tell mom, she is gonna—" he started, but Prim cut him off.

"She's going to what, Cain? She's going to kill dad for letting us use lethal weapons, make you watch, chase you down, beat you down, and then lecture me. Is that what you were going to say?" she asked him in a smug tone that shut him up. Cain lowered his head and shook it silently. She smirked. She won. Their mother was an avid supporter of their training and teaching, and they took their lessons, exercises, practices, and progress _very seriously_. However, they were prohibited from _ever _using actual weapons that could harm each other.

Thus, the fact that the two had just been using a _real _bladed, detachable bow, _real_ steel arrows, _real_ knives, and _real _swords, would have had their mother skinning them alive if she knew. Literally. Katniss loved her kids to death, but she wouldn't hesitate to kill them to keep them safe—at least that's how she put it. The children didn't quite understand it, but somehow they knew she wasn't lying.

Their father had allowed them to use such weapons—only _very seldom_—because he knew that they would need exposure to such things for their training and teachings to be of any use in keeping them alive in real life. And Peeta wanted nothing more than to keep them alive. Katniss's first and foremost condition for the conception of children was that they would be brought into a world without "_The Games_," a world without the threat of her kids being killed. _All _of the Victors had this very same condition for the conception of any children. Their children were brought into that world, but it quickly changed into another world entirely.

The "_Power of Panem_," and Panem's new governmental regime was respectful and righteous, but not everyone agreed with President Paylor's tactics. She was praised for almost every action she took, but that was only because those who did not praise her usually stayed silent. Everyone had the privilege and power to voice any and all opinions that one so wished to voice. However, even for those that did not like Paylor, respect was given to her. Thus, mostly, they chose not to act against her. But, that was not everyone.

The "_Capitol Crusaders_," as they called themselves, were a group of rebels led by Alma Coin's former cohorts, who sought to raise "_the Capitol_," and its old ways back into power. However, they were far too small in size to ever even dream of accomplishing this task. But, still, the violence and viciousness that this new and gruesome group posed to Panem was very evident. Thus, the Victors had taken to teaching their children to do one thing: to _survive_, at any and all costs.

Violence was a virus, and it was a very contagious one. The best defense against a virus, though, was a vaccine, an inoculation, and the best vaccine for violence, was in fact, violence itself. Violence was a tool that all of the Victors had used, and they had all used it well. They had used it to do one thing. They had used it to kill, but they only killed to _survive_. Thus, they had passed a great deal of these tactics and teachings on to their children.

Prim popped back into the present, and the clouds cleared in her reminiscent mind.

Prim turned her head to the window of their house across the small meadow, the window of their house in the "_Victor's Village_," their house that was so close the where the fence that encircled "_District 12_." This was the fence that remained as part of the request of the people of 12 to keep out the ferocious flesh-eaters of the woods. After the rebellion, and after Paylor took power, most other Districts had their fences removed, but 12 didn't take the chance, and for good reason.

What lay beyond the fence, in the woods, was not for the faint-of-heart. But, then again Prim and Cain were not the faint-of-heart. They were the children of Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, after all. Hunting was half of their life. The other half was breathing, but that was a given.

Through the window they saw that their father was watching them with intensely focused eyes, ready to run out to help or heal them in a moment's notice, and he was obviously unnerved by the sight of his daughter holding two blades to her brother's throat, but his worry was passing—somewhat slowly, but still passing, nonetheless.

They waved—a sign that they were alright and unharmed—and he waved back, smiling slightly at the gesture.

"Go get the arrows, and get them all in your quiver. I'll clean the blades." Prim ordered her brother, and Cain nodded, quickly reattaching both halves of his bladed bow, and drawing the highly durable and elastic string from its resting place at one end of the bow, to draw it across the entirety of the bow. It was complete again, a whole bow, as it should have been.

The two siblings dispersed to retrieve the items that Prim had just discussed. Had they had enough time, they most likely would had have opted to go hunting as well, but they were on very severe time restraints. They had to be home soon. They had company coming. People were coming that they hadn't seen in a very long time—people that they enjoyed seeing. Annie was coming. Haymitch was coming; Haymitch lived right next door, and surprisingly, he had been over more than he had been in the past, but regardless, Haymitch was still coming today. Beetee was coming. He was weird—smart, but weird. But Prim didn't mind. She was one of her parents' friends, and she knew of some of the stories of her parents' struggles and trials—and how their friends had helped them. Thus she respected Beetee. Her mother had a _very strained _relationship with Beetee, but Katniss didn't openly criticize or chastise him. He was respectable. But he was still weird.

Johanna was coming, as was her husband who was named Kolack. Their relationship had started in a bizarrely brutal way. It had started on the night when Johanna had almost hacked his head off when he was attempting to steal bread from her home in District 7, during the devastating destruction following the uprising and the successful rebellion against the Capitol. She had tried to kill him, and he had survived. The fact that he had survived in the least—in a battle with Johanna of all people—was truly a remarkable feat, and it made an interesting "_How-We-Met_-S_tory_." He enjoyed telling that story. Every time he told it, Johanna just chuckled in the same semi-sarcastic, semi-seductive, tone that she always used. Enobaria wasn't coming—most-likely for her own safety, as Johanna really wanted to make good on her promise to kill her. Finnick—Finnick Junior—was coming, as he was to accompany his mother. And Thal.

Prim sighed at the thought. Thal was Johanna's son, and he was a disgusting excuse for a human being—or so Prim thought. He showed love to only two females—his mother and his younger sister. Every other female, he showed only _lust _for. He was an animal. He was like a male version of his mother. His words to his sister were always simple, and always the same. _"Look at the girls I go after, and do everything exactly the opposite of them."_ he would constantly warn his sister. He wasn't a bad person. But Prim hated him.

The problem was that he was a very good hunter, a good predator, and he usually got his prey. In fact, she often wondered if, perhaps, her hate and horror at the mention of his name came from the memory of him having hit on her. This caused her to attack him, which caused him to show her that he was just as skilled as she was, which caused a stalemate in the brutal fight—which caused a slew of powerful profanities and offensive obscenities to spew from Prim's mouth. In fact, so much rude language graced Prim's mouth that day, that it probably slightly disgraced her namesake, her late aunt, Primrose Everdeen, whom her mother, Katniss, had only the utmost respect for.

Thal was not her most favorite person, but she dealt with him—for her mother's sake, and for Johanna's sake. Prim liked Johanna. If fact, Katniss and Johanna sometimes saw their children fighting, and they would sometimes take bets on who would win. Almost always, it ended in a draw, and no one knew who should receive the money.

Peeta did not particularly like this form of "entertainment"; it was, what he called, "degrading" to his daughter. That may have likely stemmed from the fact that Peeta did not like Thal—at all. But he never truly voiced his feelings about the boy—at least not verbally. In fact, Peeta never wished death or injury on anyone. Ever. …Except maybe, perhaps, sometimes, Thal.

There was something very big going on today, and it required _all _of these important people, these living legacies, these legends, to be present for whatever reason. Prim knew one thing for sure: if it, whatever this meeting was, required all of these people to be present, then it was _big _meeting, about _big _things. All their parents had told them was that President Paylor was going to make a nationwide announcement to all of Panem. Nothing of the sort had been done since the end of the rebellion.

It was big, that was for sure, but that was not what scared Katniss Everdeen-Mellark. What scared her was that the announcement would somehow endanger her children. That the announcement would not only be big, but somehow _bloody_ as well. She had seen and heard far too many announcements that told of future bloodshed, though, so her caution and fear were somewhat warranted. She would soon learn that her fears were correct, and that Panem had not seen the last of its vicious and violent past.

The games were done, but the violence was not. There was blood coming.

**A/N: Well, please R&R ("_Rate-And-Review_"), and let me know what you all think! …Anyways, please R&R, and stay tuned for the next update!**

**P.S. WHOOOO! THE MOVIE COMES OUT IN 13 DAYSSSSSSS! MY GIRLFRIEND WILL KILL ME IF DON'T GET TICKETS! (*Runs Off To Get The Tickets*)**


	2. The Princess and The Pig

**Disclaimer: I do not own "**_**The Hunger Games**_**," or ANYTHING associated with said franchise, movie(s), literature, games, merchandise, or other media.**

**Accolades/Appreciation: Thanks for all my AWESOME readers/reviewers of this story, for your favorites, subscriptions, reviews, feedback, and generally awesome comments! ONWARD!**

**II. The Princess and The Pig**

Prim walked through the front door of her house, and she inhaled deeply as she stepped through the threshold. Katniss had come home early, and she had caught her children picking up their recently used and scattered lethal weapons. She had come across Prim and Cain cleaning up after their training session, and she had ordered them inside the house—immediately. She wasn't too happy, and Prim really wasn't looking forward to what was soon to follow. Punishment.

Katniss's fatal glare immediately shifted from her husband, whose eyes were trained on the floor, and swiftly scanned over her defiant children. Cain's eyes went to the floor immediately as well. He learned from his father, and he learned fast. Prim, on the other hand, seemed to have a death wish, as her own blazing blue eyes pierced her mother's gruesome grey ones. The two fatal females seemed to stand there, unmoving and unnerved for what seemed to be a century. Then, she spoke.

"Prim, Cain, I have told you two, time and time again—" Katniss started, but Prim cut her off.

"—You have told us, time and time again, to _defend_ ourselves, to _protect_ ourselves, to _stay alive_. You have told us, time and time again, that we must train, teach, and test ourselves—_constantly_—in order to able to preserve and protect our lives. We were doing _just that_." Prim retorted, before her mother could even begin to chastise her.

Katniss eyed her daughter with her sinister Seam eyes, and Prim responded with an unexpected action—she pouted. She tried her best to look endearing and innocent. Katniss was trying her best to look threatening and tyrannical. Katniss was failing. Prim was succeeding. Now, all she need was quick glance from her father to seal the deal, and moments after the idea entered her mind, the thought became reality.

Peeta looked up at his daughter, and then turned towards his wife. "She's right Katniss. They were only training. You can't expect them to be able to put their theoretical training, and then transform it into real-life reactions on the spot, in a _real_ life-or-death situation. They have to be prepared, and that means practicing where pain is a factor—a legitimate factor that they can, and will, actually experience. How else will they learn to overcome it? They have to learn to wield weapons, by _actually _wielding weapons." Peeta defended his children, and Katniss turned to him in surprise, just as Prim and Cain went wide-eyed at their father's remarks.

He was _never_ truly a supporter of the fact that his children actively wielded weapons—deadly weapons that required expert handling. The fact that Peeta was now defending their actions meant only one thing. He was speaking the truth. They would indeed need these experiences and skills to keep them alive in the future, which raised one simple question. It was question that both Prim and Cain thought of at the same time.

Both of the siblings conjured the same thought at the same time as they turned to look at each other: '_What did the future hold that was so dire and drastic, so lethal and life-threatening, that it required his children to be skilled slayers to be able to survive it?_'

Katniss gave Peeta a knowing look, quietly ordering to remain silent and stop speaking at once. But there was also another emotion on her face, although this secondary emotion was not so easy to read. Cain saw it, but he couldn't decipher it; however, after a few moments Prim decoded her mother's deadpan expression, and she read her like a book. And then she wished that she hadn't.

She saw something on her mother's face that seemed so far from normality, so out of the ordinary, so perplexing, so surreal, that it spread its way into Prim as well. She saw fear. There was fear in Katniss's eyes. Prim had been confronted by many things in her life, but never this. Fear. Her mother was fierce. She was not fearful. Ever. Except today.

Katniss's many mental breakdowns and long and extensive healing process had been grueling, grueling both for her and for all those around her. But, regardless of this fact, she had become better. Her children were mostly to blame for her recovery. She couldn't be an active force in their lives, in protecting them, if she was a sad, psychotic mess. Her fear had long since become a memory, and Prim had not seen this dark and dangerous emotion creep across her mother's face, _ever_. Except today. Today, something was different. Today, something was dire. Today, something was wrong.

Cain seemed to have been oblivious to any of this, though, because he simply continued the conversation in the same unnerved manner that he had when Prim had her blades at his throat. "Yeah mom, we were just training. We were _never_ in any _real_ danger. No one was wounded or seriously hurt …well, except for the fact that you may not be able to have any grandchildren—at least from me, y'know 'cause Prim likes taking cheap shots." Cain comically soothed the situation.

Peeta chuckled, and Prim rolled her eyes. But it was Katniss that took the most attention with her reaction. That was because she had none—no reaction whatsoever. Cain now looked at his mother with sternness and sincerity. "Mom, we're _fine_." he assured her, and she nodded. Then she did something that made him positive he had convinced her that they were, in fact, alright. She smiled. Katniss Everdeen-Mellark smiled, and that was a true rarity. Cain smiled back.

"Okay. We can talk about it later. But, until then, we have company coming soon. We need food, and we need food that is _not fatal_ to our guests." Katniss proclaimed, and everyone chuckled slightly. The food that this family stomached was hard for anyone else to even look at sometimes. They ate healthy foods, but they did not eat the tastiest of foods. Sometimes Johanna swore that Katniss was still eating like she was in the "_Games_."

The Hunger Games were _not_ something that Katniss talked about openly, but she showed her detest for her dark and demented days inside the arena obviously enough, even without mentioning it, by doing one thing: by making sure her children could survive it, if they so needed to.

Almost every day, Peeta and Katniss taught and trained their children as best they could in skills of survival. Prim and Cain didn't need their parents to instruct them on when to train, though. Every day, regardless of whether they were in the presence of their parents or not, they trained. They practiced and perfected their physical prowess, and they did it for one reason—to ensure that their mother was not worried, to ensure that they could survive the circumstances that Katniss and Peeta had.

_All_ of the living "_Victors_" were this way with their children—all of the Victors, and Gale. He was the same way with his own children; although, any details regarding Gale was scarce, so no one ever knew how recently the latest piece of information on him was acquired, or how accurate it was. Katniss didn't speak about—or to—Gale in excess. In fact, she rarely spoke about Gale. He wasn't a sore subject. He just wasn't a subject, _period_. However, although Katniss didn't speak to Gale, she _did_ see him—albeit not often, but often enough.

Her career as a "_District Diplomat_" required her to travel between the Districts to perform her duties—to resolve conflicts and create calm and understanding. Gale, being one of the top-tier "_Protectors of Panem's Powers_," was assigned to lead the squad of expertly trained soldiers, who were specifically assigned to protect Panem's presidential family. Thus, their paths often crossed. He often had to work with Katniss. She had retired from revolutions and retaliations after the rebellion. She was all but finished with violence. Gale, however, seemed to have become more vicious and violent as the years went on.

Thus, where Katniss's words—words Peeta had taught her to speak—seemed to fail, Gale's violence was a handy tool. There were few dissenters with the way things were—the few whom _everyone_ in Panem condemned and cast-aside—who wanted the Capitol to reemerge as the leading and tyrannical power of Panem. These few were often talked out of their crazy schemes before violence was used, and in most instances, Katniss's soothing words brought an end to their planned revolutions or rebellions, without an ounce of bloodshed. However, when words failed, violence was victorious. This was proved true, time and time again, when Gale stopped seemingly unstoppable uprisings against President Paylor and her family.

Although these fatal few who wanted the President overthrown were small in numbers, they were large in willpower, and it took someone with an equally large will to bring them down. It took Gale Hawthorne. President Paylor was a kind and caring leader, and she showed a truly tender side towards her constituents. The citizens of Panem praised her for almost every action she took, and those few who did not like her, tolerated her. The rest were allowed to keep their opinions—and even voice them freely—but once they began to speak of rebellion, Katniss—and Gale as well—were informed, and an intervention was planned and executed.

Gale's violence was a thing of the past, though. Gale had since loosened his lethal grip on his weapons—ever since his daughter was born. He had remained the jaded, violent young man that he was while raising his sons, but for some unforeseeable reason, he changed—in an almost contradictory way—when his daughter was born.

Prim had seen Gale and his family on a few occasions in the past. Though she had rarely seen them, there was always one person that she gravitated towards in the Hawthorne family—Clover Hawthorne. Clover Hawthorne was someone that Prim truly respected. She would never understand how that girl lived with such an overprotective father, a somewhat psychotic, viciously violent mother, and three brothers, but she respected her for it.

With this confusing cloud of thoughts finally clearing, Prim now refocused on the present, and she listened intently to what her mother had to say.

"One of you," Katniss said, pointing to her children, "will go hunting, and I'll clean and cook whatever meat you happen to bring back. Peeta will bake, and the _other_ one of you," Katniss again pointed to her children, "will help him, so that he doesn't overwork himself and doze off before they arrive, _again_." Katniss gave her orders, and her family all nodded in response. Peeta hung his head slightly. The last time they had company, he had in fact fallen asleep before their guests had arrived.

"I guess I'll hunt, and Prim will bake because—" Cain began to say, but his sister cut him off before he could finish.

"—Actually, I think _I_ want to hunt. Cain, if you don't mind, you can help dad with the baking." Prim interrupted her brother, and he simply nodded in a dumbfounded manner.

Prim loved to go hunting, but if there was choice between hunting and baking, then she would choose the latter. She loved to bake. Cain didn't dislike it; he just liked hunting more-so than baking. One thing was clear. If Prim was choosing to go hunting instead of staying to bake, then she seriously needed some time to herself, some time to clear her head. Cain couldn't deny her that, although he would have liked to know what was going through her mind at that very moment, what she needed time in the trees to sort out. But that would have to wait.

Katniss nodded. Their assignments were given, and they had all readily accepted them.

"Alright then, you'll probably need this." Cain said, handing his sister the steel detachable bow that was on his back. Prim shook her head, and Cain looked at her quizzically.

Prim sometimes—more often than not—liked to hunt with blades, rather than with bows. It took a _significantly longer_ time to complete the same task, using only throwing knives, a sword, and some skinners, but she always liked using blades. They required more time, more patience, more stealth, and more attention to be paid to one's prey. But today, they were on time constraints; they did not have any extra time for her to use blades. A bow and arrow was her only option, and she knew this.

Cain held his hand out to her, his bow obviously still being offered to her, and then he slowly dropped it, expecting an explanation for her unaccepting nature.

"I won't need that old thing. I prefer using a _real_ bow. I'll use '_old faithful_.'" Prim stated, and Cain nodded in understanding.

Katniss smiled once again, and Prim caught her mother's facial expression and returned it, before heading upstairs to her mother's room, and straight to the chest that contained her father's old bow. She cautiously and carefully lifted the lid of the chest, opening it, and revealing the old, ornately plain bow beneath. She quickly donned the quiver that was beside the bow, and she then proceeded to pull out her grandfather's old bow and hung it carefully around her back. She then took some rope and a few blades that were also located in the chest.

When she returned downstairs, Peeta and Cain were already fast at work baking, and Cain's weapons were stowed away in a corner by the door. Prim went for the front door, only to have her mother callout to her.

"Prim, be careful." she commanded, and Prim turned around and nodded to her mother.

"Always am." she responded, smirking. Katniss smirked in return.

"…And, don't catch anything _too_ large. Remember, whatever we don't finish here, we can't take it to the capitol, so it'll just end up wasting." her father interjected, and Prim stopped short, just as the doorknob was in her grasp.

'_The Capitol?_' she thought to herself.

"We're going to the Capitol?" she asked her father, and he responded by nodding, all the while adjusting knobs on the stovetop in front of him.

"Yes. President Paylor wants all of the past Victors—the ones she respects anyways—to meet with her, before she gives her announcement. Johanna, Kolack, and Thal will be here shortly. Finnick and Annie will be here a little later, and whenever Haymitch arrives—which may be a while, depending on how much liquor he has consumed—we can leave for the train station. Beetee and some other higher-ups will meet us in the Capitol." Peeta explained while he and Cain exchanged chuckles and chortles over which apron looked better on whom.

Prim raised an eyebrow at this new information, and she then turned her head towards her mother. What she saw there, however, didn't calm her down. It had quite the opposite effect. Prim saw it again, and once again, it spread its cruel, cold fingertips inside of her own mind. Fear. Fear was painted on Katniss's face once again, but this time, the fear was easily readable to anyone who was looking.

With one quick smile from her mother, Prim was out the door, wanting desperately to escape fear's cold clutches. She hated being afraid. It wasn't because it made her feel weak—although it did—but because it reminded her of one crucial fact that she continuously ignored. It reminded her that she had something to fear after all—something that was worse than death. Life. Life was worse than death. She had only heard of the horrors that real life held, and she scarcely wanted to experience them. The War. The Annihilation. The Uprisings. The Reapings. The Hunger Games. The Rebellion. Sometimes, she wondered if those who died in all of that chaos were truly sad, or if by some small chance, they might have been happy to finally have an end to this wretched thing called life.

Suddenly, Prim dreaded whatever this announcement was that Paylor was to relay to all of Panem.

She shook her head clear of these troubling thoughts, and she snapped back to reality, to the present, to current circumstances, and to the task at hand. To hunting.

She made her way to the hole under the fence that her mother used to exploit so often as a teenager. There was a gate now—a door in the fence that allowed anyone and everyone clear access to the woods beyond, so long as they knew the dangers that came with it—but, regardless of this door being there, Prim always chose to use the old hole instead. It just felt…_right_.

She quickly and quietly snuck under the fence, and she resumed her normal walking pace once she was clear of the meadow. She was in the woods now, in _her_ woods. She was at home. Everywhere else, she let her mind wander, _thought_ about anything and everything that her mind could fathom, and let her body follow her mind's orders. Not here. Here, she let her body wander, _did_ about anything and everything that her body could perform, and let her mind follow her body's orders. Everywhere else, her body obeyed her mind. In the woods, her mind followed her body's orders. In the woods, everything was reversed. In the woods, things were _right_.

She continued to walk, seemingly aimlessly, for what seemed like hours. She set some snares. She shot some rabbits. But, it wasn't until she came upon an outcropping that overlooked a small depression some feet below her, that she saw something that made her mind start working again. She saw deer—two deer. Her father had told her not to bring back too much meat. But two deer were the perfect amount of meat for the company that they were having.

She dropped down to one knee. She took her bow, and loaded two arrows across the string. She raised her arms to her prey's heads, and she expertly aligned the arrows with the deer so that one shot would kill two. She was ready to release, but then something stopped her. A sound topped her. It was a sound that she hated to hear. Something made her want to redirect her already-loaded arrows at the source of the sound.

"Hey there, princess." called a smug voice from the trees behind her. It was a voice with a serrated steel edge, an edge that cut deeper than any knife ever could.

Prim sighed deeply and responded almost instinctively without a second's thought. "_Pig_." she greeted the interloper who had intruded on the sanctity of her woods and invaded her sanctuary. This was the trespasser who had disrupted her silence, and as such, forced her back into the real world. This could only be one person. Thal. Apparently Johanna had arrived earlier than expected. Or, perhaps Prim really had been out here for hours.

"Ouch. That's a little unfair, don't you think?" he questioned in a seemingly curious voice, but upon closer inspection, one could hear that his voice was laced with a venomous and vile dose of cynicism. Prim still did not turn around to look at him.

"No." she replied in a dangerously dark tone. Thal was crossing into the badlands. He had already invaded her sanctuary. Provoking her further could prove fatal. And he knew it. She could feel the smirk edge up on his face.

"Yes, it is." he responded.

"What would be unfair, is calling you a pig, and then cutting out your vocal chords so you could not offer a rebuttal. That would be unfair—albeit, an action that would _not_ be below me." she stated in a cold, dethatched, lethal voice—the tone of a hunter.

Thal just chuckled. "No. That might actually be justified. But, what you said is unfair. You don't have a single shred of support, not one piece of evidence, to back the claim that you have just so-carelessly made." he retorted, and she could tell that he was enjoying this far too much.

"It does not matter. It is fair. We are all free to do with our bodies and minds as we see fit. I can call you pig, with or without any substantial proof. It does not matter, so long as I respect the fact that everyone else—living or otherwise—was brought into this world, and bred by the world itself. Everyone has the right to _live_, to exist and to thrive. So long as I respect that right, and do not interfere with their ability to live, I can do whatever so see fit. …And I have _plenty_ of proof to support the claim, you _pig_." she responded in a dangerously level-headed tone.

"So, what you're saying is that killing is wrong and inexcusable?" he asked innocently. She still had not looked at him, but she could almost picture the exact facial expressions that he was making as he continued to taunt her. She lowered her bow, but that was for _his_ protection, not the deer's protection—which, surprisingly, had not yet run off.

"No. What I'm saying is that everyone has the right to live. But the moment that someone threatens my right to live, I have the right—no, the _privilege_—to preserve my own life; I have the right to _kill_ them—not that it truly matters. No one gives a damn about rights and privileges—not anymore. And when disregarding those two from the equation—rights and privileges—there remains only _one_ factor for determining who should be killed and who should live in fight to the finish." she stated, all the while eyeing her prey to make sure that they did not escape.

"…And, that would be…?" he inquired above his normal volume, and as he did so, she raised her bow to her prey. They were beginning to move. He smirked, and she wasn't watching him, but she knew that he was smirking. She _hated_ that smirk.

But right now she had larger concerns to think of than his stupid smirk. Her prey—her targets—were escaping. She raised her bow, and leveled it at their heads. The two deer were straying apart, however, and she was able to keep only one deer consistently in her sights. Whatever she did, she would lose a deer. And it was all his fault. Thal was to blame.

She sighed deeply, and she released her arrows, knowing that one would hit, and hoping that other would follow suit. As she released her loaded bringers of death, she answered Thal's question. "There is no more honor, no more '_rights_,' no more '_privileges_.' The only way to determine who should—or would—win in a fight to the finish, would be to judge the fight by which warrior is, simply put...—" Prim started speaking, but trailed off, and was simultaneously interrupted by what occurred next.

Her arrow that she knew would kill did just that. It killed. However, her second arrow flew mere inches by the neck of the second, plumper deer. This was not what stopped her speech, though. She expected that to happen. She expected her second arrow to miss. What she did not expect, however, was to see a sharpened steel throwing axe rocket out from behind her and catch the deer that she had just missed in the neck, effectively bringing it down. The arrow and the axe hit at the same time, and the two deer crumpled to the ground almost simultaneously. It was almost as if the two hunters had planned for their kills to happen in this fashion.

For the first time since he had arrived, she finally turned around to look at Thal. She turned to look at his face, to look at his bright brown eyes, to look at his dark brown hair that was a mess of organized chaos, to look at his physically fit form, to look at the boy whom she constantly cursed for being so much like and animal, and for being so attractive. Thal being attractive would not have been a bad thing, had she not been constantly trying to outdo him and prove him wrong. But she _was_ constantly trying to do those things. And the mere fact that he wasn't hideous made her fury towards this animal all the more difficult to channel, which in turn, made her all the more furious.

Thal spoke first. "…You were saying? The only way to determine who should win a fight to the finish, would be to judge the battle by which warrior is…" he trailed of, expecting an answer, and smirking as he did so. While he was speaking, he was buttoning his dark brown lumber jacket that housed a variety of axes and blades.

"…_Better_." Prim answered grudgingly. Thal smirked at this, and his sickly cynical eyes bore deep into her brutal blue ones. She returned his glare, and neither of them moved a muscle, until he spoke once again, and once again he split the silence apart with his smugness.

"So, which one of _us_ would win in a fight to the finish?" he questioned with another smirk.

She raised herself up on both of her feet, and she approached the boy before her. She came within reaching distance of him, and she stared deeply, with an intense concentration, into his own eyes. "Thal, if we were in a fight to the finish, I would kill you. If it took every breath in my body, every ounce of energy, every drop of determination, I would use it _all_, to _kill_ you." she stated in a viciously vehement voice that was dripping with acidity.

Thal chuckled once again. She raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't have to work so hard, princess."

She was now truly curious. "Do explain." she offered, and so he explained.

"You wouldn't have to try so hard to kill me. You are already built to kill. You are a deception, a walking oxymoron, a living paradox. You're a _deathtrap_." he said slyly.

"How so?" Prim asked impatiently, her voice now verging on a violent tone yet again.

"You lure your prey in with your beauty, and then '_snap_,' your killer instinct ends their life before they realize that they were ever doomed. You make your prey _want_ to come to you. And I couldn't blame them. You are just as beautiful as you are brutal. And that doesn't make you weak. It makes you immeasurably more fatal." he responded, his eyes locking with her own, and within them were a sort of tangible level of concentration, almost like he believed what he had said.

His words were wreaking havoc in her mind, but Prim didn't show it. She didn't blush. She didn't back away. She didn't even respond verbally. Instead, she proved his point. Throughout his speech, he had come immeasurably close to her, and their faces were now centimeters apart. And Thal had a blade pressed to the back of his neck.

Prim gently touched the blade to his neck—just enough to let him know it was there—and then she smirked.

"You should take your own advice, and stay away from the deathtrap." she cooed mockingly.

Now it was his turn to smirk. "Who said I wanted to stay away?" he questioned, and her smirk dropped somewhat. The silence that ensued was deafening. Prim didn't release her blade, and he didn't release his smirk.

Finally, she sheathed her blade, and put her bow on her back. Thal was still smirking.

"At least be useful, and help me retrieve the game." she ordered, and he didn't question her. He followed her obediently—and without protest as he usually did. But, she would have much rather endured his protesting, than watching that stupid smirk of his linger on his face. As they made their way back to the Victors' Village, her snares and their kills in tow, his smirk didn't diminish.

She hated that smirk. That stupid, smug, senseless smirk. That smirk that eloquently articulated one simple fact, without saying anything at all. That smirk that said that he had won. He had a blade to neck, and his life was almost ended. He was at the mercy of another, yet somehow, he believed that he had won. Perhaps he had. But how? If he had won, then it meant that Prim had lost. And Primrose Rue Everdeen-Mellark did _not_ lose. Yet, somehow, for some reason, he was smirking. He had won. Prim had lost. It would not happen again. Prim would have to recalculate her approach to this pig. After all, the princess and the pig were far from different. They weren't different. They were simply opposite.

**A/N: Well, please R&R and let me know what you thought! Stay tuned for the next update!**


	3. Reunions and Reminiscence

_**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own "**_**The Hunger Games**_**," or ANYTHING associated with said franchise, movie(s), literature, games, merchandise, or other media.**

_**Explanations/Excuses: **_**I am terribly sorry for the wait for an update. I have (***_**Insert Lame Excuse Here**_***). Seriously, though, between club credentials, baseball, track-and-field training, and my ENORMOUS AP/College-Course workload, I am almost drowning (Almost). But I'm not, and Spring Break is next week, so I will be updating a tad bit faster!**

_**Accolades/Appreciation: **_**Thanks for all my AWESOME readers/reviewers of this story, for your favorites, subscriptions, reviews, feedback, and generally awesome comments!**

_**Chastising My Cheapness: **_***(Hey, You Just Copied-And-Pasted That From The Last Chapter! …Um, Yeah… …But, I Meant It! :D)***

**III. Reunions and Reminiscence**

The two walked silently through the woods. She said nothing, but his silent smirk was deafening. She resisted the urge to slice that smirk off of his face. He must have sensed this, because he spoke, and the silence split itself apart, as his serrated smug voice seemed to instantly disturb the quiet trek back to her house.

"You know, you should try smiling every once in a while. You look prettier when you smile." he stated, commenting on her facial features, without even looking at them. She was leading the way back to the fence of District 12, and he couldn't see any of her facial features, yet he made the audacious action of insulting it. As he made his statement, he smirked as well, but Prim chose to ignore that last fact.

"I could care less how unattractive I look without a smile—_especially_ to _you_." she spat back, not even bothering to question him on how he had ascertained that she was in fact scowling and not smiling. It was almost as if he had anticipated it, as if he was studying her, as if her facial features were some sort of rarity that he looked upon as though they might vanish.

He was very observant. In her short time as a teenager, and in the small amount of time that she knew Thal, she knew one thing for certain about him. He was an idiot, but he was an _intelligent _idiot.

Thal chuckled at her response, all the while easily keeping pace with her, his small kill slung over his strong shoulders. "You misunderstand me, princess." he responded. She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"Then explain." she spewed in a sickeningly sinister tone.

"You look beautiful, regardless of what you _literally_ look like. I'm simply suggesting, that for once, you don't look like you might just kill me." he chortled in response.

She looked incredibly irate. "I look like I might just kill you, because I might just kill you, Thal. There is no other reason. People I don't like tend to be worthless wastes of time, and therefore, their deaths wouldn't warrant any negative repercussions. And I. Don't. Like. You." she stated.

He looked right at her. "Well, that's too bad. You don't like me—understood. I am assuming, then, that you _love_ me." he replied, smirking once again.

She rolled her eyes. "No, Thal. I _hate_ you." she replied in surprisingly sober voice, as if she was speaking to a child.

He smirked again. "Hate isn't the opposite of love, princess." he retorted, and she huffed in annoyance. She began to turn around and walk away, her skinnier deer slumped over her slender shoulders, when Thal put a hand on her shoulder, and addressed her.

"Wait. Prim, I'm sorry. Seriously, stop being so cold and closed-off. You realize it takes an extremely long length of time, to get you to thaw, right? I don't have that kind of patience. It would be a waste of energy and effort, and you know that I don't like wasting anything. The fact that I take any energy to use sarcasm or cynicism with you isn't meant to be demeaning. That takes effort and energy to talk like that. I wouldn't spend energy on something that I felt wasn't worth-while." he said, sincerely.

Prim stopped in her tracks. She heard everything he had said, and he sounded sincere—_very_ sincere. This was very unlike that Thal she knew. Perhaps he was going insane and killing him truly was the best route. Then, another, amazingly astounding, fact revealed itself to her. He didn't call her "_Princess_." Prim went wide-eyed as she turned back around to face him. She processed everything that he had just said, and with a crashing and crushing clarity, she realized that it all made sense—too much sense. He did spend significant amounts of time and energy making her angry.

Prim wasn't sure which part of Thal's speech to address first, so she picked the most obvious. "You didn't call me '_princess_.'" she stated. It wasn't a question. It was a statement, and with its utterance, came another smirk from Thal.

"You noticed that rather quickly. You miss it?" he teased, and she huffed in annoyance yet again. She had set herself up for that. But in the far, deep, dark, recesses of her mind, she herself wondered if, perhaps, she did miss it. She couldn't though. It was one of the very numerous things about Thal that she hated. But the thought stuck, and she still pondered it.

"No. And, if you're going to be an ass, the least you can do is alert me to what is serious and what is sarcastic." she replied, slight acidity slipping into her voice.

Thal raised an eyebrow. "I can read you like a book, yet I must explain all of my actions to you. You should at least do me the kindness of returning the favor." he replied.

She paused. He had caught her off guard. He was right, but she did not dare admit that. He could read her like a book. Perhaps that was why she detested this boy so much. She didn't like being read. She did her best to translate all of her body language to undecipherable gibberish, to prevent anyone from peering into her private world.

But, somehow, Thal always managed to decode her, to decipher her, to read her. She hated that. She did not return the favor, and now she wondered why. She had known this boy for most of her life—her short seventeen-year-old life—yet, she could not decipher him; she could not decode him. She did not return the favor that he had bestowed upon her.

He respected her enough to study her, to scrutinize her, to scan her. She was his rival, and his opposite, but he saw her as his equal. She saw him as a nuisance, and she had not returned the respect that he had showed her. She finally realized why she hated Thal Seur-Mason so very much.

She hated him, because he propelled her, propelled her to progress further and further. Every mile she ran, he had to match it. Every tree he climbed, she had to match it. Every skill they learned and perfected, the other constantly tried to better and best their rival. He respected her for the competition, but she hated him for it. She hated him, simply because he made her work, and that meat that she had to work for _her own_ worth, when she was around him—worth that her mother and father had risked _everything_ to give her.

But, just as she realized this, she knew that she could not tell him any of this. Thus knowing this, she offered the best answer she could.

"You are not worth the time." she responded, and Thal proceeded to don an expression of feigned hurt.

The brutality of her blazing blue eyes matched the brashness of his bright brown ones. He smirked. "Is that why you try and train so hard? Is that why you are always so euphoric and excited whenever you beat me? Is that you always don that sexy little scowl when I beat you? Because '_I'm not worth the time_'?" he questioned, using her own logic against her.

"You are beneath me. I beat you. I do not study what is beneath me." she retorted, and Thal seemed to have an already-articulated response ready for her.

"If I am beneath you, then why do you continue to look down?" he asked, and she froze. She didn't have an answer. She couldn't answer him without revealing all of the epiphanies that had just come to her.

She smirked as she thought of a response. "I look down, to see how far up I have ascended. You just get in the way. You obstruct my view." she said, and she smiled victoriously. Thal smiled in a similar fashion. She lied to him, and he seemed to know it, but he let it slide.

"You would be able to climb so much faster, so much farther, if you stopped looking down—looking back—yet you continuously check behind you. There must be _something_ worth-while below you, then." he replied.

"I can climb perfectly fine, with or without seeing where I am going. I simply like checking my progress." she responded.

"On top of the world yet, princess?" he asked.

She scowled.

"There it is—that ridiculously sexy scowl. I changed my mind. The scowl definitely works better on you. Smiling just didn't look right on you, anyways." he finished, and took off towards the fence, taking the lead, as she took some time to gather her thoughts. She had made a conscious decision. She would have to study Thal. She would have to decode him; she would have to decipher him. She would either do that, or she would kill him. She swore that this boy—this boy that she sometimes wanted to kill—would be the death of her.

The two reached the fence, and she handed Thal her weapons, while he handed her his deer and the two made their way past the fence in their own separate ways—Prim going over it, and Thal going under it. When they regrouped at the base of the other side of the fence, Thal retrieved his dead deer, and Prim took her weapons.

As they continued their trek to the Victors' Village, Thal broke the silence once again. "…You know, there _is a _door in the fence." he stated.

They were walking side by side, and as she responded, he could deftly and barely make out the faintest sign of a chuckle; she never chuckled around him. "Your point would be?" she asked, and he just shook his head.

"Never mind." he ended his suggestive statement. She wouldn't have listened anyways.

The two teenagers reached the door to her house, and she sighed at the threshold. She turned to him.

"Is everyone here?" she asked, and he nodded.

"How long have we been gone?" she asked again. Prim had a tendency to lose track of time in the woods.

Thal smirked again. "Well, _we've_ only been gone for half an hour. But, _you_ have been gone for a few hours." he answered her, and her eyes went wide. Her guests had arrived and were waiting for their food, and she hadn't even caught it yet. She had wasted a few hours, wandering in the woods. She needed a watch.

"Haymitch too?" she asked, hopefully.

He nodded. "And, he's not even drunk." Thal replied.

Prim lowered her head. She finally understood why Thal had trespassed in her woods. "They sent you to look for me, didn't they?" she inquired, and he simply smirked and nodded.

She sighed again. She was dead.

She gently placed her hand on the doorknob, and she stealthily, silently, and swiftly opened the door. The chatter on the side of the door ceased immediately, and the moment the door opened, it revealed a slew of familiar faces—all looking at her with worry, and a hint of relief. Annie sat across the way on the couch in the living room. Finnick was in the kitchen helping Peeta and Cain with something. He was just like his father—always helping. Katniss had a meat clever in her hand—obviously waiting for the meat her daughter was supposed bring back hours ago. Katniss looked irate and impatient. The fact that she had a knife in her hand only made her look more threatening.

Johanna was standing over the rear of the couch, lightly chatting with Annie and briefly watching some national news channel on the small, aged television in the living room. Kolack was near Haymitch at the south end of the room. Haymitch, surprisingly, looked clean shaven, and rather presentable.

Klear—Thal's little sister—was freely running around during this time, and Haymitch and Kol, whose attentions had been focused on the little five-year-old girl, now refocused on her older brother and Prim, who had just opened the front door. It became so sickeningly silent, that even little Klear stopped dead in front of her father. Prim scanned the room, and she then gingerly entered the threshold, handing her mother her snares, filled with rabbits, and her game. Katniss gave Prim a look that was a mixture of thanks, pain, worry, relief, and scolding—mostly the latter. Katniss took the deer and the rabbits from Thal and Prim, and she went to work, while the rest of the household sighed in relief, both to finally have something to eat, and to have something edible and actually appetizing.

The clustered chatter in the house resumed, and Prim closed the front door behind her. She let out another brief sigh.

Thal went directly to Klear, and she practically flew into his arms. She was fast—very fast.

He caught her, and he chuckled slightly. "Whoa there, easy tailwind. Don't want you to fly of course, now do we?" he asked her, and she giggled. He planted a soft kiss on the little girl's forehead, and she aptly hugged him in response, giving him a warm look of affection. She then looked at the deer that Katniss was cleaning and cutting.

"Did you kill one?" she asked him innocently.

Thal looked over to the deer, and then back into his sister's amber brown eyes. As he responded to her, he glanced up at Prim, who he noticed was actually smiling at him. When their eyes met, Prim quickly wiped the smile from her face. He smirked. "Na. It was all princess." he responded. At the mention of the word "_Princess_," Peeta quickly turned around, and shot Thal sinister stare that would have killed any other.

"H-Hey, Mister Mellark." Thal responded in a choppy manner, and Peeta slowly but surely turned back around to the stove. Kol caught the look Peeta gave his son, and he chuckled, giving Peeta a comical nod. Peeta caught a glance of this, and he smiled to Kolack in return.

Prim narrowed her eyes at Thal. She didn't kill both deer. She didn't need any favors. "No, he killed one." she refuted his statement.

Klear looked up at Prim with curiosity, and Prim walked over to her and stroked the little girl's brown hair. Klear smiled. Prim liked her, and the feeling was mutual.

"No, I didn't." he retorted, and Prim closed the distance between them fast.

"An axe to the neck would say differently." she responded, moving within inches from his face.

Finnick finished his duties in the kitchen, and he took some silent steps to be nearer to the ensuing fight. Finnick was a grown man, but sometimes he acted like a true child, just like his father. His sea green eyes were flecked with a comical concentration, as he focused on the two arguing teenagers.

"An axe was simply the _tool_ that was used to kill the creature. _I_ was one of those _tools_ as well. You killed him, princess. You just _used_ me to do it. It was _your_ woods. You tracked him. You trailed him. You targeted him. Then you used me to kill him. I might as well have been in your quiver." he replied, and Prim didn't know what to say. He was blatantly complimenting her skills. She had no idea how to combat this, except to blatantly compliment his own skills.

"You are just as good a hunter as I am. You raised your voice to get him out of my range, and then you axed him. _You_ killed him." she screeched, through clenched teeth. This certainly was a pretty peculiar argument between the two. Usually they fought about who was smarter, stronger, or swifter. That is what they were doing right at this very moment, but instead, they seemed to aptly defending the other's skills—which was _weird_ to say the least. It was not the standard situation; it was switched.

"I wouldn't have been able to get him in my line-of-sight, if your arrow hadn't veered him off course." he retorted, and she was very close to lunging at him, until she realized something. He wasn't doing her any favors. He actually believed what he was saying was true, and to an extent it was. Prim loosened her tense form, and she relaxed a bit.

"Fine. We _both_ killed it." she compromised. He smirked and nodded.

"Wow. You guys make a really good team." Klear noted, and Prim and Thal looked at her, and then back at each other.

"I suppose we do." he replied, and Prim just smiled at her.

Klear smiled, and she flew off once again, running around without a care in the world. Thal chuckled at her antics. "Careful, tailwind. Don't hurt yourself." he called out to her.

She smiled and replied, "Okay Thal!"

The moment that she was out of earshot, Thal leaned in close to Prim and whispered in her ear, "So, I'm a '_good hunter_,' huh? I'm not that much below you, after all, am I?" he asked her.

"…No." she grudgingly ground out, between tightly clenched teeth. He smirked.

"You're a good hunter, princess. But you're a terrible liar." he said, and then he was gone, walking over to his father.

Prim sighed in exasperated defeat. She heard comical chuckling, and she turned to see Finnick in losing himself in laughter. She raised an eyebrow.

"What's so funny?" she asked, and he straightened up, his flawless frosted hair waving slightly as he did so.

"Oh, nothing, flower girl. I just thought of something funny." he teased, and she raised an eyebrow.

"And that would be?" she asked.

"I was thinking of a name that would be catchy to call the kids of a lumberjack and huntress. I came up with a few, but my favorite, by far, was a '_Jackess_.'" he answered her.

Prim went red in the face. At that very moment, she didn't think that Finnick was as funny as he thought. He had just had a disturbing mental picture indeed.

"That's not funny." she stated seriously.

"Of course it is!" he responded, laughing as he did so. "It fits _both_ of your personalities so well!" he exclaimed.

She sighed. Eventually, he stopped laughing. "Seriously, Finnick. That's not funny." she claimed adamantly. Her redness had since disappeared.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What, no '_uncle_?' Do I get _any_ respect? You kids, these days, I swear, have _no_ respect! I mean, c'mon flower girl, I changed your diapers!" he exclaimed, and Prim had to chuckle, not because of his comment, but because of what was about to happen. Johanna was approaching the two from behind Finnick's view, and Prim had a clear view of the approaching woman, and she knew that Johanna had heard what Finnick had just said.

"Well, following that logic, you should call me aunt. And I never hear that fall out of your mouth, Finnie." she chastised him, and Finnick went red in the face, as he understood what she meant. His redness quickly cleared, though, and it was swiftly replaced by a smirk. Finnick Odair Junior was not one to get embarrassed easily.

"Johanna, You have long ago passed the aunt age limit. But, I'd be more than happy to call you '_grandma_' if you wish." he responded, turning around to face Johanna Seur-Mason's unamused facial features. Her bright brown eyes and her bold brunette hair were things that looked ordinary on any other female, but on Johanna Mason they unmistakably identified her as the "_Bloody Butcher_," from District 7.

She was aged, but she didn't look like it. All of the Victors—and Gale—had been training and teaching their children for so long, and so stringently and strenuously, that they themselves had become stronger and swifter in their attempts to better their children. They were old, but they only truly showed it in their speech. Their actions and appearances were almost as youthful as the day they had come out of the rebellion. Gale had taken his children beyond that, though because Terry, Gale's second oldest boy, was soon to be inducted in the "_Panem Preventers_."

"Call me grandma, and I guarantee you, that changing your diaper—which you _will_ have to do when I'm finished with you—will be the least of your worries." Johanna replied, and Finnick just chuckled.

"I know, Johanna. I have a television." he said, referencing her time in the Hunger Games.

"That's good, as long as you know that even some things the Capitol had sensor from those Games." she replied, and he smirked—not because she was lying, but because she wasn't. She was that brutal.

Finnick now changed the subject as he turned around and address the rest of the guests. "…Just out of curiosity, who else do I owe the title of aunt or uncle to?" he asked the entire crowd in the house, and they all looked to one another, and then back to him. Katniss raised her hand. Peeta raised his hand. Johanna raised her hand. Kolack raised his hand. Even Haymitch raised his hand. Finnick went wide-eyed at Haymitch's reaction.

"…_Really_? Even _you_, Haymitch?" he asked, and Haymitch nodded comically.

Finnick then looked up, as if he was deep in thought. "Well, in that case, since you all have, at one point or another changed my diaper—and by extension seen my junk—no one would really care if I strip right here, right? It's a little toasty in here, and I could do with a nice breeze." he asked, and everyone lost themselves in fits of uproarious laughter. Johanna just shook her head.

She looked at Finnick, and she smirked. "You are just like him, kid." she stated, and he turned to her.

"Who?" he asked in response.

"You damn well know who. You father." she responded, smirking once again.

He chuckled. He did know who. He just wanted her to say it. He gave her a mock salute. "Well, thank you, aunt Jo." he said sarcastically, and she rolled her eyes, walking away.

Prim was almost taken off guard when Haymitch walked over and sat on the couch directly in front of Finnick, but Finnick immediately shifted his gaze to the once venerably vicious Victor. Finnick raised an eyebrow at the old mentor.

"So, you changed my diapers, huh, '_grandpa_'?" he questioned comically.

Haymitch turned around to look at Finnick, and he briefly shifted his view to Prim and back to Finnick. His wicked white hair was cropped short, and his bright blues eyes breathed with vitality as he spoke. He looked healthy; he looked well. "Yeah. I would say you owe me, kid, but damn, that was _some_ sight. I think _I_ _owe_ _you_." Haymitch responded jokingly. Finnick chuckled.

"I can understand the awestruck astonishment that most must have felt, when they viewed such a magnificent sight." he replied, giving his best impression of a Greek God as he did so. Haymitch gave a small, almost imperceptible, chuckle.

"All I have to say kid is, '_Junior ain't so junior_.'" Haymitch commented, chortling very audibly this time. Finnick laughed out loud this time, and Prim rolled her eyes, before she turned to leave the two maturity-challenged men alone. Haymitch stopped her though.

"Nice kill, sweetheart." he commented, as he pointed to the deer and rabbits that Katniss and Peeta were hard at work cleaning and cooking. She turned around to face him.

Prim smirked in response. "I know." she responded arrogantly. Haymitch chuckled. She was so much like her mother.

"Of course, it was a team effort, and she wouldn't have _known_ that she would have had two clean kills, had her partner not come right when he did." Thal interjected, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He had now taken off his lumber jacket, and he was wearing a simple dark brown shirt that, for many men, would have looked to tight on them. However, this tight t-shirt accentuated Thal's musculature so much, that neither he nor his company complained—although Prim wasn't too happy about this obvious and very noticeable fact.

Prim rolled her eyes. "Thal, just remember that the majority of fatalities on a battlefield occur, from _friendly fire_. And I'm a damn good shot." she retorted. Thal chuckled. Annie was on the couch next to Haymitch, and she had been silent and speechless until now. She chuckled slightly under her breath.

Thal leaned down close to her and whispered in her ear his ready reply to her remark. "I know. But you don't have to be. You can kill using close contact as well, can't you? It's one of the advantages of being a deceptive little deathtrap." he smirked as he finished his statement, and Prim had evoke every emotional barrier she could to avoid blushing.

Haymitch chuckled slightly, before Prim shot him a fatal glare, and he promptly stopped—albeit slowly. Prim was processing everything as quickly as she could, trying to think of a clever comeback, but she was saved from doing so, by the appearance of Klear.

She popped into view only briefly, and the small and speedy child was quickly caught and put in a crushing bear hug by her brother.

She giggled furiously, as Thal tickled her without mercy. Just as she was becoming winded and wordless, Thal relented, and she caught her breath.

Thal chuckled, and Klear gave him an unamused look. "That's not funny, Thal. You could've killed me. I couldn't breathe." she chastised her brother, and he stopped laughing and became very somber and serious.

"Klear, I would _never_ hurt you, nor would I _let_ anyone hurt you. You are never in danger if you're near me. I _promise_. Never forget that." he stated, and something about the way he stated it made her believe him. She nodded and smiled once again.

Just as the little girl was about to open her mouth to say something, her mother and father walked over and interrupted her train of thought.

Kolack's jet-black hair matched only his eyes in darkness and determination as they scrutinized his son. Thal seemed to shrink back for moment.

"…_What_…?..." he cautiously asked his father.

"Have you been teaching Klear how to handle axes?" he asked accusingly. Thal looked confused and confounded.

"What?! No! She's _five_!" he exclaimed, and now his father looked equally perturbed.

At this moment, Kolack's question was answered as Johanna took her child from her son's grasp, and as Klear addressed her mother directly.

"Can we throw some more axes today, mommy?" she asked in a hopeful manner, and Johanna simply chuckled as she replied.

"Sure, honey. But after dinner, okay?" she responded, using her own form reasoning, to the five-year-old girl's remark. Klear seemed pleased as she nodded eagerly. Johanna walked away from the two dumbstruck males, holding her daughter in her arms.

Kol and Thal looked at each other, each going wide-eyed and quickly and quietly asking the other for help. They both came to the same speedy conclusion. Johanna was crazy. Klear was five; she had no business learning how to handle deadly weapons. Once again, they came to same conclusion: Johanna was crazy.

Kol and Thal lowered their heads and shook them. There was no arguing with that woman.

Without warning, Cain joined the small group near the couch, apparently finally done in the kitchen and wanting to talk. Finnick saw him approaching, and he adamantly addressed the youngest member of the Everdeen-Mellark family.

"Hey there, little man." he said, smiling as he did so, and Cain smirked in response.

"I would debate the use of the term '_little_,' but seeing as you're going to be an old man this year, I really can't argue with that." Cain replied, and Finnick chuckled.

"Since when is 27 years of age old?" Finnick asked innocently.

Cain raised an eyebrow, and he looked genuinely confused. "Finnick, you're fifteen years older than Prim. Prim is two years older than me. I'm fifteen. That makes you 32 years old. Not 27. I know that math isn't your strong suit, but I thought that District 4 at least taught you how _count_ the fish you catch. And since you obviously cannot do that, it would mean that you've never counted that high, which would imply that you've never caught that many fish. So, you suck at counting, and at fishing—which is terrible, because those are the only two things that you're useful for." Cain responded, and Annie chuckled even louder at Cain's cynical comment.

Finnick smiled half-heartedly at Cain, and then he thought carefully about which words weighed the most, and which would work best. Then, he replied. "Yes, that's all true, but you forget that I was technically _dead_ for five years, after the Capitol—" Finnick started, but at his surprising statement, his mother swiftly spun around to face him—her deep, dark, black hair whipping around chaotically as she did so—to stop her son from speaking, simply by looking at him.

Her sea-green eyes of infinite depths bore into her son's eyes of the same color, and he stopped talking and immediately became solemn and serious, nodding obediently at his mother.

Prim and Cain looked at each other, raised an eyebrow, and then returned their surprised stares to Annie and Finnick. Thal and his father repeated a similar action. They had absolutely no idea what Finnick was referring to.

Before anyone could intervene further, Katniss called out to everyone, and her voice vibrated throughout the entire household.

"Dinner is served." she stated proudly, and almost immediately, everyone filed into her substantially sized dining room. Everyone was seated in a manner of minutes, and the plates and platters of food were passed around as everyone silently took their share and began to gorge themselves.

After a few minutes of silence, Prim looked up at Finnick and realized that his facial features had changed from carefree and comical to serious and solemn. He didn't look like the Finnick that she had grown up with, the Finnick that so often watched over her and brother. He looked like a soldier—like a schemer. Something was wrong. Prim then ran Finnick's last words through her head, '_…I was technically dead for five years…_' and she furrowed her brows in concentration and confusion.

Finnick caught Prim's expression and he smirked as he addressed her. "Careful, flower girl, thinking too hard causes constipation." he stated, and she looked at him, rolling her eyes as she did so. The old Finnick had returned.

Cain chuckled. "It's true. I've had that happen." he interjected. The entire table turned to look at him.

"Are you serious?" Katniss asked her son. He shrugged. Peeta chuckled. Katniss shook her head.

Johanna and Kol were the two most audible eaters at the table, and with this temporary stop in everyone else's eating, they could easily be heard across the table. Everyone turned to stare at them. Kolack finished his deer meat, and he quickly reached into his wife's plate for a second helping. That was a bad idea. An axe found its way half-an-inch from his fingers, and yet he deftly avoided the strike as if he expected the weapon to be flung at him.

Katniss looked up at Johanna suspiciously. "You eat with an axe?" she questioned, and Johanna did not look at her as she addressed her. She continued eating.

"Of course." she replied simply, trying to scarf down her food, before her husband tried to take some again.

Katniss raised an eyebrow, and it was Kolack who answered her quiet question.

"Sometimes she sleeps with one." he commented, and everyone turned to look at him. "I find it attractive." he finished, smiling.

"You find it attractive that you could wake up without an arm? Honestly?" Finnick asked. Kol nodded and smirked at his wife.

Johanna caught his smirk, and she returned it, finally finished with her meal. "You never know. The bed can be a dangerous place." she defended her actions.

Kol smirked again. "Especially with her in it." he added, and at this Thal went wide-eyed, and he lunged to cover his sister's ears.

"What is wrong with you two? This is not the time to discuss that. We're eating." he chastised his parents. Kol nodded sorrowfully at the table around him. Johanna just shrugged.

"Without the, '_that_,' as you call it, you wouldn't be here. It is a natural part of life. It is required to keep us thriving and surviving—just like eating." Johanna countered. Thal sighed, and he finally released his sister's ears. She looked up at him curiously.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. He ruffled her hair, and as he did so, Finnick started speaking about something that interested both of the Seur-Mason children.

"…So, is that the axe, the one that she almost killed you with, that made you try to give her a ring, rather than take her bread, when you met her?" he addressed the two, honestly wanting an answer.

Johanna and Kol looked at each other and then back at Finnick. "We met a long time before I almost killed him." Johanna responded. Finnick raised an eyebrow, now wanting to know more.

Kol spoke next. "I was the Victor of the Hunger Games the year before she was." Kol explained, and everyone at the table nodded in understanding.

"Wait. So, you mentored her?" Finnick asked, perplexed.

Kol now looked sad and sullen. The Games had taken their toll on all of the Victors around the table. However, Kolack was the most downcast about his—particularly because, on top of the usual stresses and sadness that accompanied a Victor, Kol had the guilt of the fact that he believed he should not have won, but that his sister should have—his stupid stubborn sister.

Johanna gently patted his shoulder—an action which was not a usual one for her to perform—and she addressed Finnick and the rest of the table in her husband's place.

"No. He never mentored me. He did, however, keep me alive in the arena. Although, we never met until after my Games, during the train ride back to District 7. He was labeled as '_mentally unstable_,' after his own Games, and as such he was prohibited from mentoring that year. It wouldn't matter, though, because after I won that year, I became the District 7 Mentor. However, he did keep me alive in the arena. He was the one who secured sponsors and supplies to be sent to me. The District 7 Mentor, Lucas While, was my mentor but right after the launch occurred for my Games, the Capitol had him brutally murdered—in front of Kol. They did it as repentance for the fact that he knew about—and supported—Klear Seur's rebellious plan to break the arena rules. Thus, that left only one person to arrange for survival supplies to be sent to me—Kol." Johanna explained, and everyone was drinking in the new information with vim and vigor.

Kol _never_ talked about his time in the arena, and as such, no one had any idea what had transpired in the Games that year. The Capitol had even gone so far as to censor that year's Games from being rereleased to the public.

Finnick addressed Johanna and Kol, and he posed his next question quietly and cautiously. "What did Klear do?" he inquired innocently.

Johanna looked conflicted. She didn't know if it was acceptable to acknowledge Finnick's question, let alone answer it. She wasn't sure what Kol wanted him to know. Just as she opened her mouth, Kolack spoke, answering Finnick's question.

"She broke the rules." he said somberly.

Everyone's eyebrows immediately shot up. Finnick waited a few moments before prodding even further. "…_How_…?..." he probed and pushed even more.

Kol looked directly into Finnick's emerald eyes, and he responded as seriously and soberly as he could. "She tricked me. She lied to me." he spat vehemently.

Thal looked at his father curiously, and Klear—who was the namesake of her late aunt, of Kol's dead sister—assumed a similar confused expression.

Everyone waited for Kol to continue, and after a few moments, he did. "The girls went first. Someone got reaped. I don't remember exactly who, but I just remember that I was glad that it wasn't Johanna." he started, and Johanna looked at him with an awestruck and astonished expression. This was news to her. She hadn't known that Kol was paying attention to her when she was thirteen years old. Johanna didn't usually blush, but if she did, she would be blushing right now.

Kol then continued, ignoring his wife's surprised and shocked expression. "Then, it was the boys' turn. I was reaped—" Kol started, but he was stopped by wife.

"I remember that day. I was relieved when my name didn't get called. Kol, I didn't know you were watching me." she stated, almost abruptly. He looked at her and smiled.

"Jo, I was always looking at you." he replied, and this time, she looked down, because for the first time in a very long time, Johanna Seur-Mason was blushing. Kol smiled at her reaction, and then he continued.

"Before I reached the stage, however, they asked for volunteers, expecting none. Someone jumped at the opportunity—my sister. This was what we had both been training for. The careers were taught and trained since a young age, to kill. We—my sister and I—trained and taught ourselves, since we could walk, not to kill, but to _survive_. We went to—and beyond—our limits, and our physical fitness and mental magnitudes were trained and tested, whenever we could escape to the woods. I learned to snap a man's neck when I was ten years old. Klear learned sooner. She was brutal. She wasn't a Career. She was _worse_. She was what the Careers _feared_, and for good reason. She had trained and taught both of us for the Hunger Games, in the unlikely scenario that either of us were ever reaped. But, I learned that she didn't train herself to survive. She trained _me_ to _survive_. She trained herself to _kill_. She did it for _me_. She volunteered that year, knowing that only one of us would come back, and she knew that it would be me. She told our mentor, Lucas, about her plan, and he was amused and astonished at her tenacity. He eagerly agreed to help her defy the Capitol—although that wasn't her primary goal. Her primary goal was to bring me back. Had I known that, she never would have succeeded. I wouldn't have let her." He said sorrowfully, looking down at his lap.

After some time, he continued. "At the bloodbath, she killed three Careers, and snatched two backpacks. From that moment on, we were inseparable, until the moment that we were in the final two, and she knocked me unconscious. She ran into the snowy terrain of the arena, and I never saw her again. After I watched the video of our Games, I realized that she intended to die, but committing suicide was the last thing on her mind. She used the cameras to openly and verbally challenge the Capitol—knowing that they would never allow a rebellious youth to become a Victor—and the Capitol released their best, brightest and most brutal Mutts to kill her. They did, but not before she slaughtered a good number of them. I survived '_The 68th Hunger Games_,' but I was _not_ the Victor. That title belongs solely to Klear Seur." Kol explained, through an obviously pained and poisoned voice.

Johanna put yet another soothing hand on his shoulder, and he smiled at her. Everyone at the table went wide-eyed. Thal looked at his father with a newfound understanding. Klear just smiled.

"Daddy?" she asked him.

Kol smiled at his daughter. "Yes, honey?" he answered.

"Did you name me after aunt Klear?" she asked innocently. Kol smiled again.

"Sure did, honey." he replied, smiling.

Klear beamed. "I like that name, daddy." she said sincerely.

"I do too, honey." he replied earnestly.

Katniss and Johanna, both, cracked a smile, and upon seeing the other's emotional expression, they proceeded to alter their smiles until they resembled smirks. Everyone did. Everyone smiled. For the rest of the meal, the friends and family gathered around the table talked and taunted each other, sometimes laughing, sometimes scowling, and most of the time enjoying each other's company.

Then the phone rang. Katniss went to answer the phone and receive the important information that she was sure was about to be passed to her.

Soon, Katniss returned to the table, and she addressed everyone there.

"The train is here. We should get going. President Paylor is waiting." she stated with a stern air of finality that left no room for debate. Everyone nodded—albeit somewhat hesitantly—and they proceeded to leave the table and clean the mess that they had left behind.

Thal approached Prim as she was collecting some plates, and he grabbed a few plates himself.

"A few days together, tucked away into a tiny tranquil train, all compact and comfortable, would seem nice, princess." he said with a smirk.

"It would, if it was with anyone else." she spat back.

"What is heaven for one, is hell for the other." he remarked, before leaving, and placing his dishes in the sink.

She rolled her eyes. She did that because he was right. She hated when he was right. It wasn't that bad, though. She had a few days to prove him wrong, but she wasn't sure that she wanted to prove him wrong. Proving him wrong meant doing one thing that she devoutly detested: enjoying his company. Either way, Thal won. The pig had won again.

Prim sighed. She hated losing—especially to Thal. But, in all honesty, he was one of the few people that she respected as much as she hated—and she hated him with every fiber of her being. Knowing this, she strayed to a thought that had been plaguing and puzzling her for some time—ever since she had entered her house.

It was a simple thought, and it was something that Thal had said in his usual intelligently idiotic way, but nonetheless, it had Prim thinking—_hard_. The thought was like a poison, a vicious, vehement venom, that was just as addictive as it was destructive. It was a statement, an idea, that she tried to find a rebuttal or remark to discredit it with. It ran over and over in her mind, making her mesmerized by the repetitive nature of her monotonous mind. She couldn't stop thinking about it. She hated Thal; that was a fact. But, hate wasn't the opposite of love.

**A/N: R&R! Stay tuned for the next update!**


	4. Pregame

_**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own "**_**The Hunger Games**_**," or ANYTHING associated with said franchise, movie(s), literature, games, merchandise, or other media.**

_**Author Apologies(s): **_**PLEASE, read ANY AND ALL of the following BOLDED text! Wow. Well, first of all, it has been a long time. I am so very sorry for the ridiculously-late response/update. I was caught-up with real-life, for a while (Baseball, Track-And-Field, Graduation, College Finalizations, Etc.), and my FIRST thought was to keep-track-of, and respond to any and all of the outstanding message-conversations that I have on this here site—and update any and all of my existing FanFictions. However, just as I got back on this site, I realized something: I have been reviewing/revising/re-writing my FanFictions, BEFORE I upload/update them, but it was NEVER ANYWHERE CLOSE to how much I NEEDED To review/revise/re-write them! ...So, I STARTED reviewing, revising, and rewriting ANY AND ALL of my FanFictions, and just when I was about HALF-WAY through doing that (I Have OVER 200,00 WORDS Published/Posted On This Godforsaken Site! Do You Know How LOOOOOONG That Takes To Review/Revise/Rewrite?! VERY LONG!), and about to respond to any and all of my messages, when my life fell apart—literally.**

**Between psychotic breaks, episodic events, and metal crazes, (All Of Which Were Caused By My Life, That Just Happened To Turn Super-Sucky), I was, well, incapacitated.**

**You don't need an excuse. But, you do deserve one.**

**The good news (For EVERYONE) is the following. Writing my OWN ORIGINAL Books-Series (There Are FOUR, SEPARATE, UN-Related, Book-Series, And Hopefully, I Will Have A Literary Agent/Publishing-Deal, In A Year, OR Two! …On The SLIM Chances That Is DOES Actually Occur, Or Happen…), looking for agents, looking-into-querying, and FAN-FICTION have become my outlet! ...So, my depressing life will make for AWESOME FanFiction, with HAPPY undertones (But, My Stories/FanFictions Will STILL Have Character-Deaths [Well, SOME], Gore, Blood [NOT TOO Much, Though], Romance, And NO OOC-Ness, OR Mary-Sues, Mind-You!).**

**I have JUST finished-up reviewing/revising/rewriting my CURRENTLY-POSTED chapters of any and all Fan Fictions, and today is the day that I shall be updating ANY AND ALL of my FanFictions. And, also, today is also the day, that I will-be starting three NEW FanFictions, and they will be the LAST FanFictions that I will EVER start—unless, I decide to do a cross-over, between my DC-Comics-FanFiction, and my MARVEL-Comics-FanFiction (BOTH, The MARVEL-FanFiction, AND, The DC-Fan Fiction, Features A Teenage, Next-Gen-Hero-Team, So Having Them Team-Up In A Cross-Over Would Be Kind-Of Cool. …But, IF I Do That Cross-Over, Then That Definitely Would Be The LAST Fan Fiction That I EVER START!)! For a timeline of future updates you should know this: "**_**I Will NOT Cancel ANY Of My FanFictions!**_**" I WILL FINISH THEM ALL! …If you wish to have a better idea of how often updates will be coming, though, I have FOUR FanFictions that take precedent over my others, and as such, those four will probably be updated faster than others. You should all note, however, that I WILL be updating ANY AND ALL of my FanFictions! However, I am unsure, as to how long each update will take, so PLEASE HAVE PATIENCE! So, to keep-up with the updates, PLEASE, subscribe to me/my-story, favorite me/my-story, or message me and ask me to personally message you whenever I DO update, and I will HAPPILY do so!**

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**IV. Pregame**

Blood flowed freely. Rivers, seas, and oceans of scarlet swirled around her. She was drowning. So she swam. She recognized this blood, though. This was the blood that she had spilt. She had filled all of these seas. This was her blood, the blood that she owed, the blood that she had spilt. She swam swiftly, skillfully, trying her best to reach the rocky coast in the dark distance.

After some time, she reached soft, scarlet-soaked, ground. She crawled ashore, and collapsed. She looked into the distance, and she saw what she feared the most approaching her. On the bloody beach, under the dark sky, was a bloody boy approaching her. She sat upright, and steadied herself, bracing for a fight.

He did not return the favor. He did not come to fight. He collapsed next to the girl, and he held his hand out to her. She went wide-eyed. She knew this boy. She hated this boy. She loved this boy. She killed this boy. She reached her hand out to him, and she gently grabbed his face. His face, showing that he was in preposterous pain, contorted into a sincere smile, as she caringly cupped his face. His smile fell, as she twisted his face, breaking his neck.

Against _every single urge_, _every single resistance_, _every single want and desire in her body_, she fought. She fought against her own will, and she did what she feared would be done. She killed the boy.

Prim snapped up, alert and awake, sweat sickeningly sticking to her skin. She turned to her left, and she saw that Klear was sleeping soundly on her bed, located directly adjacent to Prim's bed.

Prim let out the breath that she was unaware she had been holding in. She let her head fall back down to her pillow, and her mind began to roam reminiscently.

Prim closed her eyes, before she opened them and sprang swiftly out of bed. She was skillfully silent, and she was careful to ensure that Klear did not wake up. Prim grabbed her flannel pants from the hanger on the back of the closet door on the left wall of the dark, dreary room. Prim sighed, as she eased the door to the hallway beyond open, and stepped through, shutting it behind her.

She walked down the hallway, tying her hair up into a proportional ponytail, using only her hair and knotting it, as she walked. The gruesomely grey hallway did nothing to help alleviate her tension. Or her guilt.

She passed by the main living quarters of the train, and she heard laughter. The adults were still up. They were laughing. That was good. They rarely got to laugh. They rarely had reason to do so. Prim peered inside the room, and she observed the interactions inside, from a detached position outside of the room.

Inside of the room, a fire flared in the fireplace along the far back wall of the room, parallel to the hallway that Prim was standing in. Around the fireplace was a plethora of seats, and a multitude of tables, topped with deserts, alcohol, and reading materials. The plush seats were all occupied, save a few.

Katniss and Peeta sat beside each other, and in the next chair to their left sat Kol with Johanna on his lap. Haymitch sat to the right of Katniss, and he was fiddling with the wedding ring that was attached to the unbreakable chain around his neck, usually hidden beneath his clothes. Annie and Finnick sat directly across from Katniss and Peeta, a cold beer in Finnick's hands, and malt mixer in Annie's hands.

Kol got up from his seat, while Johanna was still laughing at someone's unknown remark, and he reached for a bottle of red wine. He poured her a glass, and she raised an eyebrow at him. He smiled and poured her another glass.

Katniss and Peeta both had full glasses of white wine and black rum respectively, but Haymitch was without alcohol, as was Kol.

"Y'know, Kol, it's oaky for you to drink too." Johanna said, smiling. "You won't win the game, but it's still fun to play." she said, smirking at him, and taking a sip of her wine.

Kolack smiled in return, repositioning himself beneath her. "I know. But I don't want to. Besides, it isn't fair that Haymitch is the _only _one that is forbidden from drinking, and I'm all for what is '_fair_.'" Kol said, smiling sincerely at her. She smiled back and briefly kissed him on the lips.

"God, you two are too old for that. Besides, you know people from District Seven have no inhibitions. Do you want another child?" Haymitch asked mockingly. Johanna scowled at him. She didn't like people mentioning her age.

"No. But, you're one to talk about _age_, Haymitch! You're older than _all _of us, combined, and you obey any and all of your wife's _orders_, as if you're still a teenage boy trying to get some." Kol remarked.

Haymitch smiled. "I do get some. Probably more than you two. Put together." he replied. Katniss spit out her wine.

"Ughhhh. That is disgusting." she said.

Haymitch crossed his arms. "…Well…" he responded, feigning a tone of hurt.

Katniss raised an eyebrow at him.

"I didn't say it was disgusting when you and lover boy almost had sex on national television—_twice_—or when you put your hormonal horny teenage preferences above the good of the country—_twice_." he remarked. Katniss narrowed her eyes at him, but she stayed surprisingly silent. Haymitch was likely going to be in pain later tonight.

"I wasn't complaining." Peeta said, chuckling as he did so. Katniss hung her head. Everyone laughed.

"Seriously, though, Haymitch, how did you skip being a father, and go straight to being a granddaddy? That is both impressive, and sad." Finn remarked.

Haymitch chuckled. "Are you kidding me? Why would I have ever _wanted any _kids, after seeing—and _raising_—half of you psychopathic killers?!" he answered, and Finn responded by shrugging. Haymitch buried his wedding ring back beneath his shirt, and fixed it there.

Everyone erupted into a fit of merry, mirthful, laughter, and Prim smiled slightly. The sound of their laughter was like a rare drug to her ears. It was difficult to locate, and hard to hear, but when she did hear it, it was highly addictive. She smiled, and left the threshold of the open door, as she continued to walk down the hallway of the moving train.

After some time, Prim reached her destination. She sighed very deeply, and knocked lightly on the door in front of her. Silence ensued, and moments later, footsteps could be heard shuffling around in the dark room beyond. In mere moments, the door slid open, revealing Thal, and his arrogant smirk. And his shirtless torso…and his distinctly defined physical physique. Prim immediately regretted her decision.

Thal swiftly surveyed her, in her entirety. "Damn, princess. If this is you before your morning routine, then you're holding back when you do pretty yourself up." he said, smirking.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm stressed. I need an outlet." she said swiftly. Thal grinned.

He opened the door wider, and gestured to his empty bed beyond.

She wanted to slap him. But she did not. She saved it for later. "No, you idiot. I want to _train_. I need a sparring partner." she seethed.

He raised an eyebrow, and as he did so, Prim noticed something that she had previously missed. Thal was wearing glasses. "You mean that you need a _punching bag_. No thanks, princess. But, _my _preferred method of stress-relief is still on the table." he said, smirking once again.

She rolled her eyes once again.

"Coming?" she asked adamantly. He sighed.

"Fine. Just let me grab some stuff—and make-out my will." he said sarcastically. She refrained from rolling her eyes. She was known to be a sadist in training. Thal was used to that, though, and he would return the favor. She was sure of that.

Thal walked into his room, and Prim gingerly followed him, not wanting to wake her sleeping brother that rested on his own bed, on the opposite side of the room. Cain slept with his covers thrown off, his body in a haphazard position, his body bare, save for his boxers, and his bow gripped tightly in his hand, beneath his bed.

Prim entered the room, and she realized that it was not completely dark. She turned her head towards Thal's bedside nightstand, and she saw that he had a lamp turned on, and a novel was siting open beneath the lamp.

Prim walked to Thal's side, as he donned a pair of flannel pants over his boxers, and put on a shirt.

"You're reading?" Prim asked incredulously, as he removed his glasses from his face, and placed it next to his novel.

"Of course." he replied nonchalantly.

Prim raised an eyebrow, as he turned to face her. "Why?" she asked him.

"It would be a waste not to." he answered her.

Prim looked astonished. "How so?" she asked.

He smiled. "I'm going to live, because I want to, because I like life. I'm going to live, because my life is worthwhile, and wasting worthwhile things illogical. Worthwhile things—like myself—are meant to be used, not abused or thrown away. These books are worthwhile. They help me, by bettering myself, instilling me with knowledge, with experiences that I have never experienced, making me stronger, without making me weaker. They help me, and I help them—by reading them, they are not wasted." he explained. Prim stood silently still for a moment.

"I see…" she said, trailing off.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Would you like to borrow some?" he asked, and she thought for a moment before responding.

"What do you recommend?" she asked.

He smiled. "Everything." he said.

She looked at him with an unamused look. "I'm serious." she said.

"So am I." he replied, and she raised an eyebrow.

"I read _everything_, Prim. Every book that I can get my hands on, I read. I would recommend that you do the same. Young adult novels, fiction, nonfiction, biographies, books on religion, philosophy, theology, and even cooking are _all _useful books, and I would recommend that you read them all—_even the bad ones_." he elaborated.

Prim went wide-eyed. "Where did you find such a stash of books in a post-apocalyptic world?" she aptly asked him.

He shrugged. "There was an old library in District Seven that burned down. After the rebellion, no one thought it was valuable, but my dad wanted to keep as many books as he could, because aunt Klear loved to read. …So, I figured that I shouldn't let them go to waste, and here I am…" he said trailing off.

Prim nodded. "…I'll take a look at what you've got later. Right now, though I need to hit something, not read something." she said sternly. He chuckled.

"Alright then. Easy, princess. I'm all ready. Let's get going, then." he said leading the way out of his room. Prim followed, but not before gently throwing the covers back over her exposed brother.

Prim soon stepped outside of his room, and he shut the door. "Does he always sleep like that?" Thal asked.

Prim rolled her eyes. "Yes. You have no idea. He sleeps with his bow most of time, always expecting a threat, without realizing that _he _is the only threat in the room most of the time." she said, chuckling slightly. Thal smiled, and she immediately stopped chuckling.

"…And, what about you?" he asked her.

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "What _about _me?" she asked adamantly.

"Why are you up at this hour, Prim? _Why _are you so stressed out?" he asked her.

She huffed in annoyance. "I could ask you the same thing." she said bitterly.

He nodded. "You did. And I answered you." he replied. She swore mentally.

"I woke up, and I was tense, so I needed a way to relive the tension, okay?" she answered scathingly.

He nodded again. He sighed very deeply this time. "Did Klear wake you up?" he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. "…_Klear_?! No, of course not! Why would _she _have woken me up? She's been an angel, unlike some people on this train, you damn demon!" Prim whispered rashly.

Thal put his hands up in defensive motion. "Okay, okay, I was just checking. She has nightmares—_often_. I was simply wondering."

Prim stopped and looked lividly at him. "…She has nightmares?" she questioned quizzically. He nodded. "…Often?" she asked. He nodded again, sadly.

Prim tilted her head to one side. "Why?" she asked suddenly. Thal eyed her seriously.

"She was curious. She's smart, Prim; you know that. She wanted to know about The Hunger Games. Mom and dad tried to explain it to her, but she couldn't understand why people would do that to each other. Then, they broke it down even further for her. She understood. Unfortunately, with understanding comes—" Thal said, but Prim cut him off, before he could finish.

"—Fear." she said, finishing his statement. Thal looked at her and nodded slowly, sadly.

"I understand." she said. "I understand all too well." she added. He looked at her—and then _into _her. He had said more in that look, than he _ever _could with words. He knew that this girl could slit his throat at any moment of her choosing. He knew that she was capable of such a thing. He knew that she hated him. But, he also knew that she was the only person that he would want around in a fight. She was his greatest weakness—and his greatest strength.

"I know that you do. Klear is fine, though. She's getting better." he said, smiling sincerely. Prim nodded. She knew that that meant. One did not _get better_ after learning about the atrocities of the Hunger Games. One only_ got used _to it.

"How long does it take her to calm down?" Prim asked. Thal shrugged.

"She'll calm down and be right back to sleep, as soon as she gets in my arms. The problem is that I'm not always there." he said. Prim smiled.

"Well, at least when you _are _there, she has only good memories about you. Perhaps, then, it is best that you're not there _all _of the time. That way, she'll have to use her memories of you more often, and she'll _only_ have the warm memories about you to use." Prim said. Thal nodded and smiled.

"As always, princess, what you do with your lips stun me." he said, smirking at his innuendo.

Prim huffed in severe annoyance. "At least there is _one _female that you give respect to." she replied.

She took off down the hallway, towards the training room. Thal followed close behind. "I don't give you respect, princess, because you are perfectly capable of _taking _it—and so you do. If I gave it to you, then I wouldn't be pushing you, and if I didn't push you, then you wouldn't become stronger, swifter, and smarter—as you have—and, in return causally challenge me to do better—to _prove _that I'm worthwhile. If I showed you respect, then we wouldn't challenge each other, and we wouldn't be playing this game, princess. And life _is _a game, princess. The point is to _play_." he responded elaborately.

"No. The point of a game is to _win_. I don't play games, Thal. I _win _them." Prim responded, without turning around. The smirk on Thal's face solidified.

Soon, the two tenacious teens reached their intended location: the train's central training room.

Prim opened the door to the room beyond, and she stepped inside, Thal following close behind. He closed the door behind him, and Prim flipped on the light switch on the wall to her left.

The lights came on, and they cascaded a bright barrage of illumination down on the two teens. The room was enormous. It was incredibly spacious, with a large, luminous, workout area to the far back, consisting of tons of machinery, free weights, and other devices designed to help tone one's body.

To their left was a target training center, with a rack of weapons—from firearms, to bows-and-arrows, to throwing knives and axes—and target ranges lay directly in front of the rack.

To their right was an extensive rope course, and a hardened foam obstacle course.

In the direct middle of the room was a foam floor mat, designed for controlled matches, and around the very outer edges of the entire training room, was a track designed for long distance runs. Prim eyed the mat, and then she shot a sinister smile at Thal. He smirked in return, and gestured to the equipment on the far side of the room. She rolled her eyes, and walked over to the equipment.

The children of the Victors were targets. The Capitol Crusaders wanted them to cease existing, because they gave strength to the ones that stopped the Capitol Crusaders from achieving their goals—the Victors, themselves. The Victors were symbols, symbols of hope and freedom, of _strength_. They were indestructible as long as their strong symbolism stood for what was just. The people of Panem had put their faith into these Victors, and that act took _strength_. That faith _was _strength. The people of Panem were strong for that.

And, now the Victors put their faith into the people of Panem, to rebuild this country, to make it better. And, together, the country began to eliminate weakness—and the country _survived_, because the strong lived. The Capitol Crusaders thought differently, though, and they believed that President Paylor and the Victors were weaklings, cowards hiding behind the people of Panem. Some they sought to _prove _that—by attacking.

The Capitol Crusaders were rebels that wanted the Victors and Paylor to be eradicated. Their numbers were small, but their efficiency was _high_. So, to protect their children, the Victors—and Gale, as he and his family were directly associated with President Paylor—trained, tempered, and taught their children to defend themselves—to _survive_. And they had succeeded. Soldiers, Victors, and skilled fighters had assisted these children in becoming survivors, and it had paid off, as there had been attempts on their lives—but they had survived.

The two teens located the small miniature refrigerator near the first row of treadmills, and they opened it, each taking a full bottle of water, and downing in almost a single gulp. They then stretched—_extensively_. When their flawless flexibility was up to their standards, they both looked to one another, and then they headed for the nearest treadmill.

They mounted two treadmills that were directly adjacent to each other, and they activated the machines, turning the speed settings well above the recommended settings. Then they ran. And they didn't stop. They didn't even slow down, and when their sides began to burn, when their breaths began to come in sharp, singeing pains, the continued to run.

They continued, against any and all odds, until the machines said that they had run for ten minutes at a constant rate of twelve miles-per-hour.

They both dismounted the treadmill simultaneously, and their breathing began to normalize rather quickly.

Thal looked to Prim, and she returned the look, smirking. "Finished with the warm up?" he asked her.

She thought for a moment. "Not yet. I'm not warm, yet." she replied.

He chuckled. "Trust me, princess, you're on fire. Careful, or you might set the whole train ablaze, hot stuff." he said, winking at her, as he got up, from his kneeling position. Prim did the same, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Every snide remark is an extra drop of your blood that I shall spill." she said, and as she did so, vivid visions of her dream reappeared in her head. She shook them loose. Thal turned around to face her, and he smiled at the remark.

"My blood is pretty valuable. Spill all you want, but, trust me, you're going to _pay _for it." he said, smirking once again.

Prim rolled her eyes, but the moment that he turned around, she inhaled and exhaled deeply. The images from her dream would not leave her, so she would have to _force _them away.

They then walked over to his free weights. They each grabbed two twenty-pound dumbbells, and they then proceeded to do fifteen sets of twenty-five lifts with the dumbbells in each hand, and their forms were excellent.

They relaxed for a few moments, before quickly dropping into a sit-up position and performing _100 _consecutive sit-ups, each of growing intensity, power, and pace. They sat up the final time, and they caught their breaths, as their breathing normalized far faster than the average human's breathing would have stabilized.

They looked at each other and they nodded. The warm up was over. It was time to fight.

They walked over to the foam floor mat, and they both took their positions on the opposite sides of the mat. They expertly eyed each other, stretching and waiting for the other to make his or her move.

"Ladies first." Thal said, smirking once again.

Prim cracked her knuckles. "Throw the first punch, and I'll throw the last." she readily replied.

"Ground rules?" Thal asked. She smirked.

"Yes. You hit the ground, you lose." she responded. He raised his eyebrows. She did the same.

"I'm serious. Tap outs only. No cheap shots." Thal said seriously, and Prim nodded inn response.

"Agreed." she replied. Thal smirked.

"Good." he said. "Now, come on princess, let's get on with it. Enough foreplay, let's get right down to the _physical activity_. I like my women to take charge, to take the top—although they never last like that." he said smugly.

Prim smiled. "And like every woman before me, you will disappoint me, and last all of twenty seconds." she replied, equally as smug. He narrowed his eyes, and she did the same.

Prim and Thal assumed their fighting stances, each unique to their openly overt styles, and they slowly began to circle each other. Thal motioned towards Prim, telling him to throw the first punch. Prim shook her head, and repeated Thal's action. Thal smirked. '_On three_?' he mouthed. Prim smiled and nodded.

On the count of three, both teens charged at each other, beginning a furious fight to the finish. Thal delivered swift roundhouse kick to the head of his opponent, and Prim blocked the attack, while grabbing Thal's raised foot with both of her hands. Prim threw her body weight forward, and she fell on Thal, as Thal had his leg pinned parallel to his body, bending in the opposite direction that it was intended to bend.

Thal winced, and he swiftly spun over, as he pinned Prim beneath him, while he hammered Prim's exposed side with a powerful punch. Prim reeled back, and in that instance, Thal swiftly snapped his leg—which was still painfully pinned up to his chest against its natural direction of motion—out to its full length.

The moment that his pinned leg snapped out and hit the soft floor, he powerfully propelled himself forward, using both feet. As Thal flew over Prim's body, parallel to the ground, he launched past Prim, and he secured his ankles tightly around the brunette's neck, as he planted his hands on the floor, and flipped flawlessly forwards. Prim was lying on her back before Thal's ankles had wrapped around her neck, and the moment that Thal flipped forwards, Prim went with him, face first, and she hit the mat on the other side of Thal, face down, in front of her standing opponent. Thal didn't get to catch his breath, though.

Prim threw all of her weight to her left, as she spun skillfully away from Thal's fist, and she swept Thal's feet out from under him, as her body rotated on the mat. Prim planted her hands on the ground, and she pushed off—_hard_. She launched herself upwards, and she caught Thal by surprise, as she grabbed Thal's throat just before he hit the ground.

Prim spun under Thal's body, and she used her momentum to carry her, as she forcefully slammed Thal, throat first, into the floor. While Thal was on the ground, he quickly kicked Prim's legs out from under her, and he followed her spin with a swift strike aimed at Prim's chin. Thal's backhanded blow impacted Prim under her chin, and she flew backwards, as Thal got to his feet.

Prim recovered quickly, as Thal came charging at her once again. Prim deftly ducked out of the way of a flurry of Thal's oncoming attacks, and she skillfully spun around Thal's body. With her back to Thal's back, Prim quickly reached behind her, and she clasped her hands tightly around his throat. Prim pulled her hands up and over her head—_hard_. Thal hit the floor, face first, and he impacted with the ground _hard_. Thal tried to get to her feet, but Prim held her grip on his throat and dropped her knee on his back.

"Tap out." Prim said.

"No!" came Thal's muffled reply from the floor. Prim rolled her eyes, and she released her grip. Thal launched to his feet once again, and the two teens circled each other and pounced once again.

Two hours later, both of the fighters were beaten, bloody, and bruised all over. The fight had ended in a draw.

"You should have tapped out." Prim said, through a swollen jaw.

Thal sighed. "There is just no pleasing you, is there?" he asked sarcastically, through bleeding lips, as the two teens erupted in loud laughter. The only time that they could ever have gotten along, seemed to be when they were trying to hurt each other. It was the only thing that they could agree on.

Thal got to his feet, and he offered his hand to Prim, but she refused it, and helped herself up.

The two tired teens limped to his room, and they stopped at the door. Thal turned to Prim. He sighed. "I'm sorry." he said.

She looked at him quizzically. "You don't have to apologize. You never have before." she stated simply. He nodded.

"But, this time is different. I hurt your face, badly." he replied.

"I kicked your ass too. I always do. It was even. I don't need an apology." she said, smirking, regardless of how it physically pained her to do so.

He shook his head. "I wasn't apologizing to you. I was apologizing to myself." he said.

She raised an eyebrow, and voiced the one word that was on her mind. "Why?" she asked.

"I am apologizing to myself for damaging the only thing—the only sight—that was able to bring me out of the crappy world that is our reality—that is the world of constant upheavals, and rebellions, and bloodshed. I am apologizing to myself for damaging my one form of solace." he said, as he gently, gingerly, graced her bleeding lip with his right thumb, wiping away her scarlet solution. His thumb lingered there for more than was medically necessary.

Prim locked eyes with him, and before she became engulfed in their gravity, she swiftly shut her eyes. The moment that she did, a flood of feelings rushed through her that she did know could exist. The visions from her dreams were no longer visions. They were real. Thal. The boy on the bloody beach was Thal. She had killed him, and it was _real_—_all_ of it. She had killed him, by destroying the one thing that he cherished—_herself_; she had killed her true self by becoming the murderer in that dream. She snapped his neck. And, regardless of how much she fought he urge to perform the action, she _enjoyed _it. Her eyes snapped open, and she swiftly slapped his and away from her face.

She turned to head back to her room that she was currently sharing with Klear.

Thal took a step back, back from her, back from the touch, back from reality. "Nice fight, princess. No one won the game, though. I suppose you were wrong, then. The point wasn't to _win_. The point wasn't simply to _play_." he said, addressing her retreating figure.

"No." she said suddenly, stopping in her tracks. "No, Thal. The game's not over. We're still playing." she said, walking away, stunned by the truth of her own words.

**A/N: Well, I hope that you all enjoyed that chapter. On a side-note, any and all of you, wonderful readers/reviewers, should surely check-out my profile, and see what other of my publicly posted FanFics might interest you! There may be a few. If you have read a book, then the chances are that I have read it as well, and if I have read it, then I'd love to talk about it! Message me, if any of you guys have any questions, or just want to chat, about ANYTHING. I'd love to hear from you! Also, if you want to enjoy more awesome "_Hunger Games FanFiction_," then I suggest that you all check-out my newest Hunger Games FanFic, entitled "_Heartless Bloodlines_." The first chapter of this new FanFic was published today! The faithful followers of this story will LOVE that other HG FanFic that I am writing, as will any fan of "The Hunger Games." Reading/reviewing that story will give the feedback that I need—and, when I get what I need to write, I tend to write more! Well, stay tuned for the next update, and please click that subscribe/alert button, if you want the alerts for updates on this story, or simply message me, and ask me to message you every time I update, as I would be HAPPY to do so! So, please R&R, and stay tuned for the next update! **


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